


Suggestion

by KuriQuinn



Series: The Legacy of Fire [13]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Blank Period, Drama, F/M, Honeymoon, Humor, Married Life, Married Sex, NSFW, Prompt: Her Intimates, Romance, SasuSaku - Freeform, Sex, Slow Burn, Surprises, Underwear, Underwear Kink, it's always the quiet ones, ssfest2017, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriQuinn/pseuds/KuriQuinn
Summary: To be honest, he doesn’t even realise that’s what they are until the flimsy scraps of elastic and satin are dangling from his fingers. When he does, his first thoughts are that these should not be here. [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 3 – Prompt: “Her Intimates”]





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:  This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. You will be smothered by tatami mats should you be found plagiarizing. **   
>    
>  ** Warning:  _Spoiler_ s for pretty much everything up to Chapter 699. NSWF themes.**   
>    
>  ** Canon-Compliance: As close to canon as fanfiction can possibly be. With a few personal additions :P Takes place during the Blank Period.**   
>    
>  ** Fanon-Compliance: Takes place several years before _An Inch of_ _Gold_ and _Unplanned._**   
>    
>  ** Beta-Reader: Sakura's Unicorn**   
>    
>  ** Special Thanks: [JBankai89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89), my awesome braintwin, who on short notice agreed to proof-read this for me and ensure it didn’t turn out completely awkward. Love you! (If you're into rarepair, smutty goodness from the Harry Potter fandom, check out his stuff!)**

Life on the road is nothing like either of them expected.

Outside of the war, Sakura has not explored the world very widely, while Sasuke has only ever experienced it from the standpoint of a lone wanderer. Like most things about their new life together, it takes some getting used to. They both have their own routines, and travelling together means learning to share those – and adapt to others.

Sasuke discovers very early that the easily-impressed, swooning girl he left behind all those years ago is nothing but a memory. The first time he suggests taking the longer route to the nearest village to avoid trekking through a forest rumoured to be inhabited by bandits, she gives him an unimpressed look. It’s the same one he remembers giving Naruto when they were kids and the blond boy was being particularly obtuse.

“What, are you worried you’ll break a nail?” she challenges, adjusting her bag and marching straight into the trees, leaving him jogging to catch up.

It _does_ turn out to be filled with bandits. Sasuke doesn’t even get the chance to deal with them, and judging by the smirk Sakura shoots him afterward, that was intentional.

That smirk may or may not be the reason that they arrive late to the village anyway. And for the mouth-shaped marks on her shoulder and scratches down his back.

It’s not just the pleasantly surprising aspects that they get used to, but other quirks that are either new or forgotten.

Sakura is _always_ cold, which means she’s always stealing their blankets, whether they are on the road or at an inn. Sasuke might not mind cool temperatures when he’s awake, but there’s no feeling more irritating in the morning than the empty, grasping cold and the realisation his wife has turned herself into an overlarge pupa with his stolen covers.

“It’s not my fault you’re a freak with fire in your blood!” she always whines later over breakfast, usually while wearing three of his sweaters and hovering over a hot thermos of coffee.

Cold-related complaining aside, Sakura is unerringly chipper at the start of the day. Sasuke’s body might be used to waking at a certain early hour, but he doesn’t like it – never has. It’s a fact both of them forgot in their years of their separation.

After the first few unpleasant mornings of stilted conversation and growled responses, an unspoken rule emerges that Sakura not speak to him until the sun reaches a certain point in the sky. Conversely, he learns what a terrible idea it is to ask her questions in the evenings while she’s preparing healing balms or absorbed in the delicate process of mixing antidotes.

Travelling alone, Sasuke has gotten used to not needing to vocalise his thoughts or decisions about his destination and plans. Several times this automatic tendency leads to him dealing with frosty silence or an annoyed glare because he expects her to intuit his thoughts. He, in turn, becomes annoyed by questions he considers to be obvious.

Unlike when they were children, however, the behaviour doesn’t fester.

He likes to think that he’s a little better these days at talking about problems as they arise, and his wife is better at recognising when space is needed. There have been a few tense discussions, but never true arguments, and it all seems to be working. Sakura has, in many ways, been somewhat of an enigma up until now. The more he is with her, the more he learning, and he suspects that maybe one day, he just might figure her out.

Until he is suddenly offered a glimpse of her he never truly considered before.

He is in the process of emptying their packs of the dirty laundry; it’s his turn to bring it to the nearby river for washing while she collects firewood.

Since their first night on the road, they have a tacit agreement that every chore is shared and swapped equally – be it latrine digging or darning socks. It’s a definite change from when they went on away-missions as children. Back then, Sasuke, Naruto and even Kakashi usually left Sakura with the “easy” chores, either out or misplaced chivalry or a refusal to do traditionally feminine tasks.

When Sasuke left Konoha, and in the many years afterwards where he was alone, he learned that necessity erased any arbitrary notions of gendered duties. And so, unlike most men who might complain about their wives not doing their laundry, Sasuke instead busies himself with sorting through sometimes muddy, sometimes torn and often bloodstained garments in both his and his wife’s bags.

It’s as he is dividing the soiled items from the clean that he discovers something utterly puzzling in Sakura’s bag.

“What the…?”

A set of black, lacey lingerie. 

To be honest, he doesn’t even realise that’s what they are until the flimsy scraps of elastic and satin are dangling from his fingers. When he does, his first thoughts are that _these should not be here_.

Since he and Sakura embarked on their travels, Sasuke has discovered that his wife is a particularly efficient traveller. Even when she seems to have missed the point of travelling lightly (though, for her, he supposes that a twelve kan bag _is_ lightweight), and when she somehow manages to defy the laws of physics with the amount of _things_ she can cram into her bag, she is meticulous.

All of her possessions have been selected based solely on maximum utility. She hasn’t brought anything frivolous or garish with her from Konoha, everything is purely functional. Medical supplies (the vast majority of her belongings), non-perishable food packets, weather proof clothing. Of the latter, even her underthings were chosen for support rather than aesthetic. There is nothing here that is fragile or delicate.

Except, it seems, these two mystifying pieces of fabric.

There’s no purpose to them, not even in terms of the one function that they’re meant to serve. Sasuke doubts the garments would offer any kind of comfort – in fact, the cut of the underwear suggests it would ride up in places that it shouldn’t, especially in a battle situation. The cups of the bra are cut so low that even Sakura’s small bosom would spill out over the top if she moved too much.

Sasuke’s mind helpfully provides him a mental image of his wife, leaning forward in the skimpy garments, the pale rounds of her breasts escaping over the black lace.

His grip tightens slightly, and his mind flies to the most obvious conclusion.

The only reason a woman would pack a pair of underwear so flimsy is if she were planning to be seen in them by a specific person. Considering Sakura practically swore herself to him when they were children and they’ve now been married for a few weeks, obviously the only person she’s intending to be seen by is him. Which he isn’t adverse to, it’s just...

Well, he never figured Sakura to be _that_ type.

Yes, every time they’ve been physical since the wedding she’s been the unofficial lead, but it’s mostly in a patient, tentative kind of way. Guiding them both in discovering what feels right, learning each other’s preferences. Sasuke knows she’s never been with anyone but him – and he’s never bothered with anyone else either – but Sakura is more at ease when it comes to intimacy than he is. And while she’s the one that has initiated every sexual encounter they’ve had, it’s never been in a domineering or leading way.

The mental image of a half-naked Sakura is back now, only this time he imagines her looming over him with that same expression she had when they faced the Ten-Tails fission beings. Confidence, pride and the unquestionable certainty of her own power.

Sasuke’s mouth goes dry, and there is a sudden tightening in his groin.

The idea is more intriguing than he has considered. If Sakura, a woman who can crush mountains with her bare hands, ever decides she wants to bend him to her will, he’ll have a hard time stopping her.

Would he even want to?

He swallows.

Sasuke chooses to table that question for now, unsure if he’s entirely comfortable with the answer, and instead considers the next most obvious: if Sakura truly had some kind of plan of…seduction…why hasn’t it happened yet?

They’ve been on – what she maddingly calls – their “honeymoon” long enough now that there has been ample opportunity. She doesn’t lack for confidence, and he doesn’t think he has given any indication that he would be entirely averse to a seduction. Barring a minor rough patch of awkward conversation and wounded pride two weeks after the wedding, their relationship has been progressing far beyond the physical.

At least, so he thinks. Sakura doesn’t appear to be unhappy (and he really is a lot more perceptive about that sort of thing these days), and Sasuke feels more at ease than he has ever felt in his life.

So why does she have a pair of underwear he has never seen her in?

And why does that bother him?

He glares at the offending scraps of clothing for throwing a new dimension to his relationship with his wife, and tries to decide if this is one of those things he should bring up with her.

A third mental image comes to him, this time decidedly unappealing, with him trying not to stammer out a question while she giggles at him.

_No. Bad idea._

Even though he has discovered new and interesting ways of silencing her, Sasuke avoids embarrassing conversations if at all possible. So, in the end, he does nothing.

He packs the lace undergarments back in her bag, finishes sorting the laundry that needs to be brought down to the river, and goes about his business. There’s no need to make this incident bigger than it is, or reveal his confusion to his wife.

But he pays attention, after that.

Not that he didn’t before, of course, but now that he’s actually keeping an eye out for something specific, it’s different.

His eyes rove over her body when she isn’t looking, studying her when she’s at ease and when she’s at her most dynamic. It’s a practice he perfected young – observing Sakura when she wasn’t hyper-focussed on him in order to avoid awkward small talk. But now, there’s actual intent behind it.

Whether she is hunched over patients in a makeshift field hospital or using that brute strength of hers to demolish natural obstructions, he takes in the minute shift and tightening of her clothing on her body. He watches the shape of the lines beneath her tunic, mentally cataloguing and deducing which pair of undergarments she is likely sporting that day.

Just out of curiosity, of course. He might have been trained by a closet pervert, but he isn’t one. And he honestly doesn’t know how he would react if she did wear that _other_ set. 

He doesn’t find out, either, as she always sports the thick-strapped, functional kind. It’s just as well. Their travels don’t necessarily revolve around looking for trouble, but as two-thirds of the most powerful shinobi force in the world, they tend to attract danger.

Or stumble into it accidentally.

The black, lacy intimates never make an appearance again and although he’s (surreptitiously) checked that they’re still in Sakura’s backpack, there doesn’t seem to be any indication that they ever _will_.

He eventually puts it out of his mind.

That’s not to say he doesn’t frequently think of and admire his wife’s body – far from it. They live in such close quarters, it’s impossible not to notice her. And they still have relations regularly – in fact, he’s a little flustered at how often. Retiring together after a long day inevitably turns into losing themselves in each other’s bodies, his face buried in her neck and her thighs wrapped around his hips.

Sasuke never thought he would be one of those men that enjoys intercourse as much as a good fight. But it appears that he actually likes sex. Craves it, even, to an almost embarrassing extent. It also turns out that perfect chakra control isn’t the only skill his wife has. The sounds she can pull from him –

Well, it’s probably for the best that they spend more time on the road than in guesthouses.

The whole thing is an aspect to married life that his twelve-year-old self fully really considered when he grandiosely declared his intention to repopulate his clan.

Sakura teases him about that all the time now.

He refuses to think about what it means that he blushes every time she does.

うちは

They are finishing up errands in a border town in Wind Country about a month and a half after the wedding.

While his wife scours the markets for herbs to replenish her antidote stocks, Sasuke speaks to the local headman about some disappearing travellers in the area. Experience and his gut tell him it’s probably half-starved mercenaries who refuse to accept that the war has been over for years, but it’s best to be sure. He’s a lot less cavalier about just walking into situations since Sakura has been travelling with him.

It’s a habit more than anything else, seeing as how she can punch craters into the earth itself, never mind deal with a few mercenaries.

The headman mentions other villages in the area having problems, and that the nearest one has even been getting ransom demands. Sasuke promises to continue investigating the matter, and then seeks out his wife.

Sakura has found her way to the local healer, and has spent the day helping see to patients. As has become routine, Sasuke wordlessly slips into the role of assistant and sees to the menial fetching and carrying tasks while she treats the sick and wounded. Only as the sun begins its downward decent does he indicate to her that it’s time to leave.

“I’m exhausted,” she tells him after they bid farewell to the grateful healer and village people. She yawns and stretches. “I don’t know about you, darling, but I really want to sleep on an actual bed tonight. I think I saw an inn or a guesthouse at the other end of the village.”

Sasuke considers this.

They don’t often have money on them – it’s rarely needed anyhow, with Sakura’s medical skills and his willingness to work at any job that needs doing. This week, however, they happen to have a few ryo. Their budget would allow for it, assuming the place isn’t too expensive, but Sasuke senses the weather will be turning soon. From the smell of the air and the ache in his temples, there’s a storm coming – probably a day or so off. He’d prefer to have arrived at their next destination instead of slogging through it tomorrow.

He opens his mouth to say just that, but Sakura looks up at him beseechingly.

“Please?” she coaxes. “I could do with a warm shower. And I saw a laundromat here, too. It’s been _ages_ since I’ve used fabric softener on my clothes. If we leave now, we’ll have to do the wash in a river again.”

Sakura doesn’t ever complain about their lifestyle – it’s as if she takes sleeping rough as being just another quirk of being married to him. Which is why in the rare instances that she does protest – usually when she needs to rebalance her chakra or occasionally when her monthly cycle troubles her more than usual – he goes out of his way to accommodate her.

His wife gave up a lot to be here, travelling with him, even if she insists it’s what she wanted. The least he can do to repay her kindness is to make her life easier where possible.

“Can you wait until tomorrow for laundry?” he wonders. “I’m familiar enough with this area. The next village has a lot more to offer than this place.”

“Not really,” she tells him, apologetic. “I’ve only got one clean pair of underwear left, and knowing our luck, we’ll get delayed by something or other. I swear, sometimes I think Kakashi-sensei’s perpetual tardiness somehow rubbed off on us. I used to be so good about managing time…besides, you really need to shave, and it’s always so much easier when there’s a mirror and hot water involved –”

But Sasuke hasn’t heard anything past the word ‘underwear’.

His brain flips through the mental catalogue he didn’t even realise he was keeping of what Sakura wears and when, and realises that she’s right. There is only one pair of undergarments left in her backpack, neatly buried at the very bottom and never spoken of by either of them.

And if she were to wear those all day tomorrow – never mind the impracticality if an attack should happen while she’s wearing them – he would probably spend the entire time thinking about her.

Wearing them.

All. Day.

Right now, it’s taking him an embarrassing amount of concentration not the double-check that she’s not wearing them right now.

“Fine,” he says at last. “Go get the room.”

She beams, goes up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and then hurries off.

To cover his embarrassment at the impromptu public show of affection, Sasuke occupies himself with calculating if they’ll still have enough for lodgings tomorrow as well, or if they will need to find a fast way to make a little extra money.

He decides it will all be moot anyway. The way their luck is going, they’ll probably run into those mercenaries the minute they step foot out of the village. It’s not only Kakashi’s unpunctuality that has rubbed off on them, but Naruto’s jeopardy-friendly nature.

_Speaking of…_

Sasuke heads to the edge of the village and summons a hawk, sending word back to Konoha of the past few days activities. He promised to keep the Hokage apprised of the situation along the borders, after all. And Naruto said if he didn’t hear from them every week or so, he would hunt them both down and drag them home again.

“Travelling the world and helping people is one thing – I’ve had enough missing Uchihas to last me a lifetime, believe it!”

The moron would do it, too, and Sasuke isn’t keen on having his honeymoon ruined by his idiot best friend.

He winces.

Sakura must _never_ know he just thought of it as a honeymoon.

With that silent promise to himself, Sasuke heads in the general direction she pointed out earlier. It’s a small enough village that there’s only one building it could be, so he has no trouble finding the small guesthouse. As he arrives, his stomach begins to growl. It might be an idea to go out for dinner once they’ve dropped off their belongings.

The old biddy at the front door cheerfully welcomes him inside and informs him of the room number where he can find his wife. It’s a ground floor, which Sakura prefers, and located at the back of the building, which is his preference.

Upon reaching the door, Sasuke pauses, and quietly raps on the doorframe. Married or not, it never seems right to just barge in.

“Come in,” he hears his wife invite cheerfully, and he slides the _shoji_ aside, steps inside.

“Are you hungry?” he asks as he begins to take off his shoes. “There’s an _izakaya_ about a block awa –”

His question dies on his lips as he turns around, and every thought in his head promptly disappears as he looks up.

Because there she is, reclining enticingly on the tatami and determinedly holding his gaze, while he is frozen in the act of straightening up.

“What do you think?” she asks, her nonchalant tone somewhat contradicted by the colour of her cheeks. They closely match the colour of the hair falling in waves over her shoulders.

Her very, _very_ bare shoulders.

Because the only thing she’s wearing right now are those scraps of black lace he caught sight of weeks ago. And, as it turns out, despite his excellent visual memory and tactile knowledge of his wife’s body, imagination didn’t do her justice.

The black is a stark contrast on her pale skin, making the blush steadily moving from her face downward all the more noticeable. Just like he imagined, the cut of the brassiere is insufficient to cover her small breasts, but he didn’t account for the wiring pushing them upward or creating the dip between them that he has the bizarre urge to press his face into. As for the impractical cut of the underwear, it accentuates the curves of her backside in a way he didn’t expect at all.

“I got this set as a gift before the wedding,” she tells him.

Sasuke remains utterly immobile, trying to rediscover the connection between his brain and his mouth.

“I was supposed to wear it the night of the wedding,” she continues casually, as if she isn’t standing in front of him wearing next to nothing. “I didn’t get the chance, remember? And cold forests and damp caves don’t exactly have the same romantic feeling…” She shrugs, and then bites her lip, eyeing him expectantly. “Do you like it?”

He should be moving. Or he should say something. This is ridiculous, he’s seen Sakura utterly bare before, and the sight of the delicate fabric clinging to her like a second skin should not be as arresting.

And yet…

“I think you do,” she declares quietly, stepping even closer to him. “Which is kind of strange, seeing as how you’ve seen me completely naked before. I mean, this –” She runs her hands down her sides in an elaborately casual gesture that nonetheless has his throat constricting, “ – covers up all my important bits. And you know what they look like anyway, so what’s the appeal?”

Noting his continues silence, her confidence wavers a little.

“Or…or is there no appeal?” she inquires in a quieter voice, recoiling a little. “You’re so traditional about so much, do you think maybe this is a bit too risqué for me? Yeah…that’s probably it. And besides, with our lives, it’s a bad idea. Never mind, I’m going to change –”

Sasuke has crossed the distance between them faster than if he had teleported, interrupting her little conversation with herself by pulling her close.

“Don’t,” he tells her gruffly, and then leans down and captures her lips with his.

Sakura makes a noise of surprise, but it only lasts a moment. A beat later she relaxes into the kiss, bringing her arms up around his neck. With her in such close quarters now, Sasuke allows his fingers to rove over her arm and down to the wrist, tracing the scars from stray kunai and shuriken between the grooves of her fingers.

“I was right,” she murmurs against his mouth, “you do like it.”

“Think what you want,” he retorts, sliding his hand back up to her shoulder and hooking a finger beneath the strap of the brassiere. He doesn’t pull it down, though, instead drawing his fingertip downward and then across the upper curve of her breast. She hums in amusement and approval, but it transitions into a gasp as he continues to etch a path down the centre line of her body.

Slowly, he drags the knuckle of his index finger down her sternum, between her breasts – briefly noting the ingenious little front claps there – and past her navel. Muscles in her stomach tense wherever he touches, and she can’t quite keep him from hearing the tiny, hitched breath.

This time she’s the one who kisses him, pulling him close and aggressively assailing his mouth with teeth and tongue. There’s a tugging sensation, and he feels her rolling the thick material of his cloak up and over his head; they break apart briefly so that it can be tossed aside. Then she unbinds his katana – this is treated more reverently, gently placed against a nearby wall – before she is back again. Restless hands unbuckle his belt and pouch, dropping them to the floor, then make quick work of his shirt.

She’s used to being the one that sets the pace between them, and he is used to letting her be. But today he finds himself longing to map the plains of his wife’s body, paying special attention to areas he doesn’t usually. Something about having the parts of her he loves to lavish with attention hidden away, as if they are something he has to earn, is intoxicating.

When she reaches for his waistband, he waylays her, pulling her bottom lip back between his. She moans in surprise and pleasure, and Sasuke takes advantage of her distraction.

He traces the material covering her breasts, cupping the left one in his palm. Sakura doesn’t say anything, but her shallow breathing and the way she wraps her arms around his neck to bring him closer suggest approval. Her nipples are hard and clearly defined through the barrier, and when he thumbs at them she nips at his lip in playful retort.

He continues his exploration, sliding his fingers downward and curling them across the sensitive skin beneath the curve of her breast. Fingertips play with the wire there, threatening to slip beneath them and touch her without barrier; her breath catches in anticipation while he considers, and then lets out in a frustrated hiss as he instead continues the course downward.

“You’re teasing me,” she accuses him against his mouth.

“Maybe,” he replies, still tracing the defined muscles beneath soft skin, and the few jagged scars she received before becoming practically invulnerable. As always, he lingers a little longer across the one centimetres below her kidneys, conscious that the slightest change to the angle of the weapon would have robbed him of this.

Of her.

“I’m right here,” she whispers, sensing – as always – the reason for his pause.

He doesn’t answer, not liking to seem too vulnerable in this moment; instead he seizes her lips once more and spreads his palm across her abdomen, just below her navel. His little finger traces a path across the skin just above the line of her underwear, a spot where he knows from experience she is very sensitive.

Immediately he is rewarded with a shiver, and two glassy green eyes glaring up at him. “Sasuke, if you don’t stop teasing me…”

He raises an eyebrow at that, because even though he knows better, the idea of Sakura being threatening is still something that inspires amusement.

Any sense of superiority disappears when her hand presses firmly against the front of his trousers, fingers splayed and tips tracing the growing hardness there. The quip he had ready dies in his throat, replaced with a groan as she presses down with the palm of her hand; the movement is sure and precise, born from intimate knowledge of exactly what he likes.

Flicking open the button of his trousers, she smirks at him and begins to kneel, her intention clear. Sasuke’s brain stutters, and his hand snaps out reflexively, hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her downward progression.

Sakura’s eyes go wide in confusion, and something like hurt, and he can tell right away she thinks she’s being rejected somehow. He pulls her back up again and kisses her soundly, doing his best to disabuse her of that notion, because there is no a mistake and he definitely appreciates the gesture.

The first time Sakura took him in her mouth, he spent the next two days revisiting the event in his head. Although he enjoyed it – more than enjoyed it – the sight of her on her knees before him made him feel uneasy and awkward. The sight of _anyone_ kneeling before him, really, but her…

It will be a while before he’s used to that particular view.

Besides, he knows for a fact that Sakura has the power to reduce him to begging, something he isn’t keen to advertise to the other patrons of the guesthouse.

There’s a reason he prefers to avoid indoor accommodations these days.

Sasuke slowly guides her to turn around until the bare skin of his chest presses against her back. He winds his arm around her waist and guides her closer, pressing his fingers against the bottom of her ribs. She tries to twist her head to the right to kiss him again, but the angle’s wrong, and she just catches his chin with her lip.

Sakura she makes a frustrated noise and tries to regain their previous positions, but Sasuke distracts her by grazing his teeth along the side of her neck. He feels the rapid-beat of her pulse beneath his lips and tongue, and takes a moment to lightly nip and suck the area there.

“That’s…not fair,” she protests, but it’s weak and without any true conviction.

“Life’s not fair,” he retorts against her skin, heading down toward her collar bone.

He notes the movement of her shoulder blades against his chest, the scrabbling sound of fingers against cloth, and realises she’s attempting to undo the clasp of the bra. Quickly his hand grabs hold of hers to arrest the movement.

“Don’t,” he instructs, pulling her hand back up toward his face. He stretches over her shoulder and presses his lips to the fleshy part at the base of her thumb.

The way he sees it, Sakura when through the effort of dressing for him. Throwing the outfit on the floor would be an utter waste, really.

A playful sulk enters her voice. “Why?”

Her other hand is moving now, following the same path and he growls, grabbing downward to imprison both her wrists in his hand.

“Because I said so.”

This time it’s a full-body shiver that wracks her body, and she emits a frustrated but aroused moan, yet when he releases her hands she doesn’t try for the clasp again. Instead, she reaches behind her and both hands them in his hair, giving it a sharp tug of reprimand – his hips jerk reflexively in her backside in response – before allowing him to continue.

It’s a tacit agreement to let him lead for once. While it’s what he wanted, for a brief moment Sasuke pauses, torn between the myriad ideas which occur to him. To continue to explore the expanse of Sakura’s body, or to offer her some relief before she loses her patience and puts him on his back.

His cock twitches at the mental image – more memory than fantasy – and he gives himself a mental shake.

Both options have their own merits, but this is about trying something different.

All of his ideas would be easier with an extra hand, and in instances like this he is starkly reminded of his limitations. But he’s also learned that it’s not so bad to get help sometimes.

An idea occurs to him, daring in that he’s never considered it before, and is unsure how she’ll react. Still, he’s never been one to shy away from the uncertain just because it hasn’t been attempted before. Leaning in closer to her, his lips hovering in the air just above her ear, he whispers, “Touch yourself.”

The reaction is immediate.

Her fingers slacken in his hair and she sags heavily into him, as though her knees have buckled in her surprise.

“Wha…?” she gasps, like she can’t believe what she’s heard. He can hardly believe himself, as it’s more vocal and forward than he usually is. But she changed the usual natural progression of their sexual encounters, it’s more than logical and acceptable for him to do the same.

Reaching once more for her right hand, he easily frees it from his hair and slowly, carefully, guides it downward.

“I said,” he says, louder this time and lower, “touch yourself.”

“S-Sasuke, I don’t…are you…?”

It’s rare to see her the uncertain one when it comes to sex, so he hums an affirmative into the skin behind her ear. She is trembling now, but it’s not with apprehension; they both know if she were uncomfortable with this suggestion she could easily pull away from him. That she doesn’t is telling.

Together, their joined hands dip lower, past the flimsy elastic of her impractical underwear and through the damp curls there. Her breath hitches as he begins to guide her fingers with his – as if she needs to him to show her what to do.

As if she wasn’t the one who taught him to do this to her their first night together.

Their fingers move in tandem despite the awkward angle, stroking lightly within her slick folds, slowly establishing a rhythm that has her gasping.

“Don’t stop,” he orders, pulling back.

“F-fuck…”

Sasuke grits his teeth at Sakura’s curse, pressing his erection against her back in response. He still isn’t used to hearing her swear, and it has more of an effect on him than it should. He pauses for a moment, trying to sort himself out, trying to ensure she isn’t stopping, and then lets his hand retrace its path back up her chest.

Once again he fondles the soft satin material, pressing and kneading the breast encased there. Sakura’s grasp on his hair tightens and slackens in sync with the movement of his hand, and every now and then he supposes with the stroke of her own fingers. He doesn’t notice right away, but his own hips are following the same rhythm, rocking into her. Each time, warm bursts of pleasure lance through his body.

Sakura is leaning on him now, the pace of her breathing increasing, and he knows she’s getting close, even if this won’t get her off. Without some manoeuvering the angle is wrong for her, which is just as well, because he suspects if they continue doing this standing up, they’re both going to end up in a tangle of limbs and bruises on the floor.

Slowly, he eases back from her, reaches out to still her busily working hand. She mewls in protest, but it dies as he guides them both to the floor and manoeuvers her onto her back. She is flushed and dazed, and he pauses to admire the tableau – hair fanned out around her, chest heaving in such a way that every inhale highlights her cleavage.

He can’t help lean over her and brush her lips first, then against her collar bone, before dipping down and sucking a bruise onto the rounded flesh beneath it. Her hands are once more in his hair, trying to keep him in place, but he still has other plans.

He moves downward, brushing his lips across her stomach, grazing his teeth across the skin over her bellybutton. When she least expect it, he tugs at her ankle, lifting it so that her left leg dangles over his right shoulder and causing her to fall backward again with a muffled _oof_. With some careful manoeuvering, he manages to find a semi-comfortable position on his front which gives him the most access.

While she adjusts, he runs his palm up her leg, over hips and stomach, then back, smirking when he feels her breath catch. Just as she seems to regain it, he presses his mouth to the inside of her knee, and bites lightly _just_ there.

“Sasuke!” she cries, jerking upward and trying to grab hold of something. He dodges her grasp, forcing her to claw desperately at the floor beneath them. Just as Sakura has discovered the parts of his body that make him go boneless, he’s learned a few of hers as well.

He continues following the invisible trail up her inner thigh, the stubble on his chin scratching the sensitive flesh there, bringing him closer to the gap between her legs Here, he pauses, for a moment debating the merits of abandoning his restraint.

The fabric barrier of satin and lace is soaked, the scent of her strong, and he knows what he _wants_ to do.

If there’s a guaranteed way to make Sakura cry his name and beg in a manner that is fraught with pleasure instead of the pain he has caused in the past, it’s this. Coaxing her to release with tongue and teeth is something he has become surprisingly good at, and yet…it deviates from the plan.

He started this out not removing her clothing, and he intends to finish the same way. It’s a challenge, a point he is making to his wife that he fully appreciates her efforts to seduce him – and to himself that he doesn’t have to be inside her to give her pleasure.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he can’t eventually bend the rules.

Reaching out, he runs his fingers down the material between her legs, pressing against her – right there. She squirms reflexively, trying to press him as far through as the satin and lace will allow. In response, he wiggles his fingers – she swears – and begins to work her through the fabric in earnest.

Listening to her, Sasuke has fight down the need to pull away, to take himself in hand to relieve tightening, uncomfortable pressure in his groin. It’s only knowing that chasing his own relief would detract from Sakura’s that he doesn’t, and instead tries to ignore the way his hips are stuttering against the floor.

He sets a new rhythm, using fingers and palm to caress and tease her into a desperate state, focussing on the already sensitive bundle of nerves hidden by the thin material. Every time she appears to adjust to his pace, raising her hips as she gets close, he changes his pattern. He withdraws from her, refocuses on the delicate skin between thigh and vulva or lightly trails his nails along her inner thigh.

“S-Sas…” the word is cut off by a moan, and she tilts her head back, baring her neck. If he weren’t otherwise occupied, he would want to sink his teeth into the base, leave her branded by his teeth. But he can’t, and she wouldn’t stand for it anyway in her position –

There’s a creaking sound from the vicinity of her right hand, and he dimly notes that there will be gouges in the floor if she’s not careful. He doesn’t let up, though. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have to worry about her crushing strength right now, although in terms of deaths he can think of worse. Her left hand is on the back of his head, not forcing or pulling, but guiding him closer to her core, then tries desperately to push down her underwear.

“Please, please – !” she hisses, more a command then a plea as her fingers tear at the elastic. “Just take them off, I need you – I need you to be –”

He catches hold of the offending appendage and shoots a sharp look up at her. “No.”

“But – why – please –”

“Because,” he replies simply, and when she blinks blearily at him, he smirks and bears down on her.

Whatever confused response she intended is lost in a high-pitched keen as Sasuke zeroes in on her clitoris, sucking at it through her underwear with the clear intent of continuing until she shatters beneath him. Her hips are like a vice against his ears, and he can barely breathe, overwhelmed by her scent, but it doesn’t matter.

Within moments, Sakura’s hips arch upward and her body goes rigid. Sasuke’s eyes snap up to watch as her mouth falls open in a wordless cry, head pressing hard into the floor and eyes clenched shut.

He continues to move his mouth against her, guiding her through the aftershocks of her climax until she mumbles a wordless protest. Then he rolls away, gingerly getting to his knees to take in the picture she presents.

She doesn’t give him very long.

Before he can quite prepare for it, she’s pulls herself to her knees and shoves him backward, playfully but with force. He lets himself fall, only just catching himself on his elbow, and then she’s on top of him, straddling his hips. His cock is trapped between the gap of her thighs, meeting damp and silken resistance there; when she rocks forward, Sasuke moans, head snapping back. Sakura takes advantage of his bared throat, leaning forward and tracing a line from his Adam’s apple down to his sternal notch.

His hand leaves the bendable surface of tatami, grasping the back of her head to bring her face close to his.

“This won’t last much longer if you keep doing that,” he murmurs into her ear, or tries to. He is panting by now.

She chuckles and grinds downward again in promise, and the strangled moan he lets out is even less intimating. Her nose brushes the spot between temple and ear, and she whispers, “That’s the point.”

He wants to be indignant, but when she pulls his earlobe between her teeth and sucks on it, combining it with a clever swivel of her hips, he can’t cut off the guttural groan that tears from his throat. He’s not coming yet, but close – hips bucking up convulsively now, totally out of his control – and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep from shouting the next time.

Sensing this, Sakura adjusts her position over him to offer him more room to move, and her mouth falls from his ear to his neck. Her breath puffs against his skin, little gasps fanning a faltering rhythm in tandem with his frantic upward thrusts. His hand grasps at her thighs, desperate to keep her in place, but he drags himself into a sitting position, changing the angle once more.

They are chest to chest now, and this time it’s Sasuke who moans every time Sakura teases him, grinding down, using the dampness between their bodies to offer much-needed friction. Her forehead drops onto his shoulder, and he dimly wonders if maybe he can hold on, if he can make her come again first, if he can see that look on her face again before –

Sasuke’s body bows into hers without warning, and he can’t fight the shout the tears itself from throat and lips.

His vision flickers white for several seconds, hot wetness spreads across the inside of his trousers as he pumps desperately upwards once, twice, and then shudders into stillness.

Sakura sighs and relaxes against him, murmuring praise and promises of love into his ear, the way she always does. And, as always, he finds himself contentedly returning both as he loses the ability to stay upright. He falls back, his body utterly relaxed against the tatami.

Sakura is a pleasant weight on top of him, but the cooling, damp sensation in his trousers is not. He shifts them both to one side, gently laying her back, and busies himself with removing the offending garments.

It looks as if both he and Sakura will need to do laundry now.

He lays back down, allowing Sakura readjust her position beside him, and they wait together for their heart rates to return to normal. Only then does she breaks the silence.

“Wow,” she says.

She’s still out of breath, which makes Sasuke feel more than a little smug, because usually it’s her that has him still gasping after their encounters.

“I did not expect that,” she says, turning over so that she can face him. She leans on an elbow, her chin in the palm of her hand and a smile playing at her lips. “You have an underwear kink.”

Sasuke makes a face at that, because that really is the most appalling thing she could have just said. “I do not.”

“You do too,” she teases. “You’ve been waiting for me to wear that set of lingerie for weeks now.” Off his surprised expression, her smile becomes a knowing smirk. “What, you didn’t think I saw you watching me all this time? Darling, people can usually tell when a normal person is staring at them, what do you think it feels like having a Sharingan tracking your every movement?”

Which is about the moment when Sasuke realises that the whole thing was planned.

Rather than admit to his wife that she’s caught him out, though, he stiffly insists, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” she remarks mildly, leaning a little closer to him and with her free hand coyly trailing a fingernail from his collar bone, down his sternum. “So, if I went out and bought a cute little red version of this…?”

Once again, Sasuke’s ever-so-helpful mind offers up an image of Sakura, artfully posed in a set of red silken lingerie, tentatively slipping one strap over her shoulder.

His softening cock gives a tentative twitch at this, and Sakura’s smirk widens.

“Never would have guessed,” she remarks slyly.

“Shut up.”

“I mean, we both saw Naruto wandering around so often with that stupid jutsu of his, and you never even twitched.”

“You’re not Naruto,” Sasuke grumbles. “At least, you’d better not be, because this time, I really would kill him.”

Sakura laughs.

“Don’t worry, one hundred percent me – see?” she points to the patch of floor beside the mat, where her fingers gouged deep ruts into the wood earlier. “Property damage to prove it.”

Sasuke rubs at his eyes, a sure sign of the post-coital haze that heralds sleep. “You can be the one that explains that to the landlady.”

“Do you think she’ll feel better if I tell her it could have been worse? It’s a good thing I took a chakra suppressing potion beforehand.”

“Hm…”

He shifts, bringing his arm around and lazily wraps his palm around her satin-clad breast.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re not Naruto.”

“Right, because you’re first reaction to him flashing his fake breasts in your face would be to grab him?”

“This is how I know you’re you and not Naruto.”

The logic works in his head, and Sakura sighs, shaking her head in amusement. The movement threatens to dislodge his hold, and he stubbornly maintains the protective grip.

“Am I ever going to get that back?” she asks him playfully.

“No,” he answers mutedly, a sense of total contentment making him lazy.

“Well, that’s going to be problematic. Seeing as how it belongs to me. Sort of a matched set.”

“A matched set that is clearly my property.”

“Um, no, these are always my properly seeing as how they’re on my body.”

“Location is irrelevant.” He gives her squeeze. “These breasts are mine.”

Sakura sniggers. “Can you let me go get a voice recorder and say that again?”

Sasuke shoots her a lazy glare.

She outright laughs this time and then burrows into his side, obviously taking his growing reticence as a silent plea for peace of quiet. He actually thinks she intends to honour it when an incalculable amount of time passes in silence.

Until she breaks it.

“So…just me in lingerie, huh?”

Sasuke snorts and closes his eyes, tired, and buries his face in her hair. “Think what you want…”

He falls asleep to the sound of Sakura’s laughter. 

終わり

**Author's Note:**

> _Wow._   
>  _So…that happened._   
>  _I hope you guys enjoyed it, it was my first NSFW story ever (with the exception of two truly terrible pieces I wrote back in high school when Mary-Sues and OCs were big. I hope I’ve grown since then…)_   
>  _As part of the SasuSakuFestival, please go to the ssfest page and vote, like and/or reblog, it would be majorly appreciated!_   
>  ****  
>  _クリ_   
> 


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